


Man of Many Hats

by veleda_k



Category: White Collar
Genre: Community: fandom_stocking, Gen, odd friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-25 11:53:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/638629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veleda_k/pseuds/veleda_k
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mozzie is not a personal shopper, nor a couples counselor. But helping out the Suit puts him in some strange positions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Man of Many Hats

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sholio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sholio/gifts).



> Written for Sholio, for fandom_stocking.

When the phone rang five times, three times in a row, Mozzie answered, it knowing it would be the Suit. (Caller ID could be spoofed. Mozzie had his own system.) “Hello, Suit.” He hid his slight apprehension. All too often, the Suit called with bad news. (Neal had been kidnapped, Neal was hurt, Neal was being incredibly stupid again.)

“Mozzie, I need your help.”

It didn't sound like an emergency. The Suit sounded worried, but not panicked in a 'Neal is moments away from death' sort of way. “Might I remind you that _I_ am not your CI. The fact that I occasionally lend my expertise does not mean that I'm at the beck and call of the FBI."

“It's not for a case. It's about El.”

For Elizabeth? That did change things. She probably wasn't in any danger, given the Suit's previously established lack of panic. “What's this about?”

“Our anniversary is in a couple of weeks, and I need something really special this time. I had a really great idea a few years back, but from then on I've been striking out.” He sighed. “El never says anything, but I can tell when she's disappointed. 

Mozzie couldn't believe he was having this conversation. Maybe he wasn't having this conversation. Could this be some obscure FBI code? Or had he accidentally dosed himself with LSD again? (If the latter, then maybe Neal had a point about licking unknown substances off paper.)

Code or hallucination, Mozzie might as well see where this led. “What was the great idea you had years ago?”

“A trip to Belize. I finally got the time off work and surprised her with it. Neal helped with that one. We turned June's terrace into a little tropical getaway.” His voice grew soft and wistful.

Mozzie was glad for Elizabeth's sake that her husband adored her so much, but they were moving away from the subject at hand. “Why don't you ask Neal to help you this time?” That made a lot more sense than going to Mozzie.

The suit cleared his throat awkwardly. “Neal isn't speaking to me right now,” he admitted. “Last conversation we had ended with him calling me a control freak and slamming the door in my face.”

“You, a control freak? Never,” Mozzie muttered under his breath. Dramatic door slamming did sound like Neal. So it was that sort of thing. Again. A while back, Mozzie had realized that when it came to each other, he had to stop thinking of Neal and the Suit as two grown men, and instead think of them as junior high students, wildly undulating between the closest of friendships and barely contained, simmering hostility over whatever bizarre cause that one or both of them had invented. Mozzie almost asked what they were fighting about _this_ time, but stopped himself. They'd get over it eventually, and he was _not_ some sort of CI/handler couples counselor. “Fine, Neal's unavailable. I can't believe I'm getting involved in this, but for Elizabeth's sake, I will. What do you have so far?”

“Jewelry is supposed to be a safe bet, but I always get the wrong thing. I can't get her taste right.”

“Simple, yet elegant,” Mozzie supplied easily. “She likes understatement, and therefore prefers traditional diamonds to brightly colored stones. She'll occasionally go for something daring and modern, but the circumstances have to be right.” 

“See? This is why I called you. So, diamonds?”

“I don't think so. If you've really screwed up these past several years, then you're going to want something personal.”

“I tried taking her out to a fancy restaurant last year. Some sort of Caribbean-French-Moroccan fusion... thing.”

“I thought you hated that sort of thing.” Mozzie didn't add 'you plebeian' to the end of his sentence, which he thought was very gracious of him. 

“I do! I was going to endure it for her sake.” He sighed again. “But somehow, she knew I wasn't happy, which made her unhappy, and the night ended badly.”

Mozzie shook his head. “You can't fool her like that. She _knows_ things.” He thought it over. “She would make a brilliant con artist. And now you're glaring, no doubt. It was only an observation. The point is, you can't make her happy by making yourself miserable. It won't work.”

“Something personal that I won't hate,” Peter mused. “But what?”

“I can't tell you. If you want this to be truly special, then it has to come from you. I can only guide you, Grasshopper,” he said in his best mysterious voice, “not tell you destination.”

“Right, this conversation was almost normal until that last part.” The Suit paused. “Thanks, Mozzie.”

“Don't mention it. Really, don't. I have a reputation to keep up.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” the Suit swore, with only a touch of humor. 

Mozzie hung up and mulled over the conversation. It went against his well fostered cynicism, but he hoped the Suit found his perfect present. And if it wasn't only Elizabeth's happiness he was thinking of, then no one had to know. 

Mozzie kept himself busy that week. He still had to make a living, and that meant getting down to business. (People like the Suit liked to say that crime was the easy way. They had clearly never _been_ criminals. It took a lot of time, energy, and skill. Not for the lazy or weak willed. Not the way Mozzie did it, at least.) When he had some free time, he went to Neal's. At first glance, Neal was as bright and sociable as ever, but he refused to discuss work, and his face fell into dejected misery whenever he thought Mozzie wasn't looking. Mozzie had to remind himself again that he wasn't a couples counselor.

Mozzie found himself so busy that he had almost forgotten about the Suit's dilemma when the call came. “I've got it!” the Suit announced, not bothering to say hello. “At least, I think I do. It needs work.”

“It's not a button camera, is it?” Mozzie asked. “Because I'm getting her one of those for Christmas.”

“What? No. I was in a bookstore, and I saw one of those personal coupon books, the type that have offers like 'This entitles the bearer to one foot rub.'”

“And you bought one?”

“No. They were all too generic. I'm making my own.” He sounded proud and, Mozzie had to admit, justifiably so.

“That's actually a good idea.”

“Don't sound so surprised.”

“You can tailor each coupon to her specific needs and desires. But make sure you're willing and able to make good on every offer,” Mozzie warned. “A broken promise is worse than no promise at all.”

“I'd never thought I'd hear that from a con artist.”

“Just because I'm an expert on fake relationships, doesn't mean I don't know anything about real ones,” Mozzie pointed out, a little coolly.

“Sorry,” and the Suit did sound contrite, so Mozzie let it go. “I only have one problem.” Mozzie could think of several responses to that but kept silent. “I've written a few of these out, and they don't look like much. Nothing but my writing on slips of paper. Am I supposed to just staple a stack together?”

“God, no.” Mozzie didn't bother to keep the horror out of his voice. “You're going to take them to Neal, and he'll write them out in calligraphy. Oh, and he can do a little painting for each coupon.”

“Except Neal is still angry with me.”

Mozzie exhaled. “Look, Neal is miserable over this fight. Unless you've done something truly awful, then I'm sure he wants to end it as much as you do. Extend the olive branch, and he'll take it. Haven't you noticed that no matter what, the two of you always end up forgiving each other?” Great, apparently he _was_ some sort of CI/handler couples counselor. 

“Are you certain?”

Mozzie told himself he was not at all moved by the note of hope in the Suit's voice. “I'm certain.”

“I''ll go over to his place right now. No wait, I'll call first. That's respecting his personal autonomy, right?”

“Close enough,” Mozzie responded dryly.

“Great. I've got to go.”

“Yes, goodbye.”

Mozzie put away the phone and turned back to his batch of blank, mid-20th century checks. Forging celebrity checks wasn't the most glamorous or challenging job, but it was good for a quick buck. “No rest for the wicked,” Mozzie murmured contentedly as he got back to work. 

Very much against his will, Mozzie had become emotionally involved in the saga of the Suit's anniversary gift, so when the Suit called him a few days later, he was eager to pick up the phone. “Are you calling to give me an update?” He did his best to sound unconcerned. 

“Sort of,” the Suit told him. “El wants to have an anniversary party this year. You're invited.”

Invitations inevitably made Mozzie suspicious. (A lot of things made Mozzie suspicious.) “Who else is coming?”

“Neal will be there,” warmth crept into the Suit's tone, so he and Neal must have patched things up. Mozzie wasn't surprised, but it was definitely about time. “Jones and Diana” the Suit continued, “and a couple of El's friends from work. No one who will try to arrest you or spy on you,” he assured Mozzie.

“Hah! We'll see about that. But I will come,” he declared after thinking for a moment, “as long as there's free food.”

“That's very generous of you,” the Suit replied. It sounded like he was going for sarcastic but had wound up somewhere between there and amused. “Hey,” he added after a brief silence, “thanks for helping me with all of this. The present and Neal. I know how much it will mean to El,” he added quickly.

“Anything for Elizabeth.”

“The party's Sunday at six. I'll see you there, Mozzie.”

“See you there,” Mozzie hung up the phone, “Peter.”


End file.
